Rose Llucmajor Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Valencia

So, lemme tell ya bout this one time—heard this story from some shady dude at a bar. Swear it’s true, tho who knows with these types, right? This chick, back in the 1800s, some London alley, was THE whore of her turf. Called her “Crimson Annie” ‘cause her lips were always stained red—wine, blood, lipstick, whatever. She’d hustle all night, dodgin’ coppers, then vanish into the fog. They say she once stabbed a john with her hairpin—bam, right in the neck! Didn’t kill him, but damn, that’s ballsy! Made me laugh my ass off picturin it—her just smirkin, like, “Next!” Got me thinkin—whore ain’t just a job, it’s a freakin attitude.

Inspire me!

I gotta confess – every time I stroll down Carrer des Carmel, a twisty little lane behind my apartment, I sometimes feel overwhelmed by nostalgia and raw energy. My brain spikes out – “Look, truth, yeah, it’s messy – but it’s real!” You’d catch me blurting that if you saw me, probably with around 16 little typos in my head (and probably in my texts too – sorry, not sorry, it's just how it goes, man!).

“The coolest event I had ever attended till this day!"